


Traditions

by deadptarmigan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29075433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadptarmigan/pseuds/deadptarmigan
Summary: Harry and Ginny are now engaged, but there are a few details prior to the wedding that Harry needs to take care of before they wed. This may eventually have a companion story, but I am marking it complete nonetheless.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	Traditions

"Were you surprised?" Harry asked, eager.

"Of course I was," Ginny beamed. "How could I not be?"

"I've had the ring for about a month, I still can't believe you didn't see it somehow—"

Ginny scoffed at this, but there was an underlying delight in it that warmed him. "How would I have done? I had no idea it was there!"

"I kept getting paranoid you'd find it, and kept moving it," Harry confessed.

They both looked down at the ring in question. It glittered on her finger in the light of their wands and the fat August moon. Harry's stomach swooped; he hadn't been nervous, precisely, as he'd asked Ginny to marry him. But ten minutes later, after she'd given him her blazing look, said yes, let him slip the diamond and ruby ring onto her finger, and then snogged him, he was still feeling quite shaken. It helped to sit beside the lake, stretching his legs out in front of him, and nestle as close to her as possible.

"I love it," she said.

Harry looked up from the ring and into her eyes. A tendril of long red hair fell over her pale cheek, and there was a particular brightness in her brown eyes. His nerves settled. It was right. Despite the worries over the last weeks — that he'd got the timing wrong, that the place he'd chosen to do it was silly, that things could go wrong — he was now feeling as buoyant as one of the Giant Squid's tentacles that floated in front of them ten feet off the shore.

"I just have one question," she said. Her tongue peeked out to moisten her lip. "Why did you choose this particular spot?"

"Oh, Hogwarts?" Harry said. "I figured because—"

"I know why you chose Hogwarts, Harry," she said, waving her hand. It was the one with the ring on it and the glittering distracted him for a moment. "Of course you'd choose Hogwarts... it was your only home for so long. I wondered why _this_ particular spot."

They were on a rather secluded stretch of beach, one that had been the site of some particularly happy hours of Harry's life. That time with her in sixth year still sometimes seemed like a dream, cut far too short and followed by so much darkness, but those hours spent here, with her, were some of his best and most shining memories.

Ginny leaned back on her hand and gave him the sort of lazy, wicked grin that made his stomach swoop again, but not from the aftermath of such a momentous occasion as offering a proposal. This was desire, a familiar companion of his.

"I chose this spot because I seem to remember being near here when we decided after kissing in the common room that we were together," said Harry. He kept his voice light. That particular location was close enough, only a hundred or so yards down the shore.

" _Near_ here, maybe," said Ginny. "But I seem to remember something else happening pretty much exactly here."

It was ridiculous considering how intimate they'd grown over the last year, but the back of his neck grew hot. "Erm—"

"I seem to remember taking my top off for you the first time right about here," she said. She laughed; delight fizzled through him and combined with the desire.

"It's a beautiful stretch of lake," Harry protested. But she was too beautiful, suddenly, and too merry, and he had to kiss her. He tasted her laughter on his tongue, and felt her body arch closer to him.

Perhaps it was this section of beach, or the way she'd teased him, but Harry kept his hand light on her stomach, stroking her with his thumb. As he kissed her, he remembered what it was like to be young and inexperienced and just learning how good they could make each other feel — and would, for the rest of their lives.

Ginny pulled back a little, then traced his bottom lip with her finger. "If I'd known you'd like them so much, I would've flashed you whenever you were moping about Grimmauld Place."

This startled another laugh out of him. This time, he was the one laughing as _she_ kissed _him_.

Their breaths mingled when she pulled back. "Did my dad say anything when you asked him?" she asked.

"He — erm," said Harry.

" _Did_ you ask him?" Ginny asked. "Is that not a Muggle tradition? I suppose it might not be—"

"Oh, I did," said Harry. He pulled a bit away. "I did ask him, Muggles do it that way, too." He swallowed. "He said he'd been expecting it, and — erm — couldn't be..."

"Prouder? Happier?" Ginny supplied.

Harry tickled her sides and pulled her into his lap. In truth, telling Arthur he planned to marry Ginny, and asking his blessing had been one of the more nerve-wracking experiences of his life. His head had known that Arthur almost _certainly_ wouldn't say no, but his heart had been laboring harder than it had during the less terrifying encounters with Voldemort himself. But Arthur had grown a bit misty eyed, said that he couldn't be happier than to give his blessing, and other things that had had Harry's eyes grow a bit misty as well, to his horror.

"He said he was willing to throw in a few galleons a month for your upkeep," said Harry. There was a lump in his throat that took a moment to clear.

Ginny laughed, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him hard on the lips. "I bet he told you you were a man in a million."

That was close enough that Harry nodded.

" _My_ man," she whispered.

It came out as such a satisfied purr, that it spread heat all the way down his body. Harry kissed her and grew hard in his trousers, arranging her just so she was pressed tight against his swelling erection. For a long time, perhaps several days, Harry kissed her. It was never something he tired of, kissing Ginny, and he didn't see himself tiring of it any time soon. The feel of her lips on his... he never _wanted_ to tire of it.

But at some point, he began to want more.

"I have a question for you," he said, his breathing ragged. At some point, his shirt had come off. Hers, sadly, was still settled over her.

"Another one?"

"Is it tradition in the wizarding world for witches and wizards to have sex right after they've become engaged?" Harry asked.

"If it isn't, we can make it one," Ginny said with great good cheer.

The moon had fallen behind the clouds, and even with the wandlight it was dark. So as much as Harry wanted to vanish much of their clothing, he lifted her off his lap, and began to attend to some necessities. As private as the lake seemed to be, he wanted assurance, so he walked a small box around their towel, muttering some of the protective charms he'd learned while on the run.

"Hey, Harry!" called Ginny, when he was halfway through.

He looked at her and nearly choked. Her shirt was open, and her breasts were out for one brilliant second before she closed her shirt again. "That isn't helping!" he said.

"Well, we were speaking of _traditions_ ," Ginny said cheekily. "Isn't it _traditional_ that you get a chance to see these in this special spot?"

"I'm hoping I'll see a lot more," said Harry.

It was hurried and probably shoddily done — but Harry was not concerned for safety, but for their privacy. When he turned back to her, she'd set a cheery fire to blazing and had taken off her trousers, leaving her only in her loose shirt that revealed tantalizing bits of her. As he walked toward her, he unbuckled his trousers and let them slide down his legs. His pants soon followed and his erection sprang free, the tightness around it gone.

As he neared her, she opened her arms.

"I like the fire," he said, and kissed the top of her head.

What they did next was not quite dancing, but more swaying in each other's arms a bit, before Harry lifted her. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he kissed her again. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire, the lapping of the water against the shore, and their breathing, which became rapidly more urgent the longer they kissed.

"Let's lie down," she said.

Harry was more than eager to comply. The only bit of clothing left between them was her billowy, open shirt. For the second time that evening, Harry got down on his knees. This time, he slid the shirt off of her, looking hungrily at what was revealed: pale smooth breasts topped with pretty pink nipples. Pulling her closer, he kissed one, then the other.

"You didn't do _that_ the first time we were here," said Ginny. Her fingers tangled in his hair, but not so hard it hurt.

"I was too amazed you let me see them at all," Harry mumbled. He flicked his tongue out and licked, and watched goosebumps appear in an arc on her chest. Her nipple was a tight bud against his tongue, and he laved it until she started squirming. Suddenly, he did not want to lay down at all, but wanted to stay exactly where he was—

"Harry... I thought we were going to lay down," she said.

"Oh, right," he said, experiencing a tiny pang of regret. "Sorry."

They tumbled down together, Harry spreading out half on top of her, hand sliding down her flat belly and into the red curls between her legs. Ginny spread her legs for his touch; she was wet already, damp, and nearly ready. With learned precision, he found her clit and rubbed gentle circles just around it.

"Oh, yeah, Harry, like that," she said, arching her back. " _Don't_ stop."

"I know," he said, smug. "I won't."

He dipped his head down, intending to follow his fingers with his mouth, but Ginny stopped him. "As much as I like that," she said, sounding a bit shy, "I want you inside me. Please, Harry?"

"Of course," he said. He caressed her another minute until she was well and truly wet, her beautiful face flushed with desire. It was only then that Harry rolled on top of her, settling himself between her thighs. Harry gripped her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, then brought it out of the shadows. He watched the ring he'd slid on there glitter in the firelight for a moment. It was, he thought, just as lovely as he'd imagined it. He looked up, at her lips, at her blazing look, and suddenly wanted nothing more than to pull back and watch _her_ go down on _him_. It was a brilliant sight—and would be even impossibly so under the moon, and he nearly came just thinking on it—

Her other hand slid down his back, urging him to enter her, and he set aside his sudden urge to feel her lips wrapped around him.

Harry looked up and into her eyes, nudged her with his hips, and slid into her warm, welcoming body. Both of them moaned as he did, the sounds mingling together. "Merlin, you feel so good, Ginny," he gasped. Her heat was intoxicating.

"Yeah, Harry, keep going."

He did. There was a slow and easy rhythm he knew Ginny liked — he himself wasn't choosy — and found it, nudging her with his hips, rolling them, not taking his eyes off her because he loved watching her eyelashes flicker the moment he filled her completely. With the fire at his back, warming him, and his erection exactly where it wanted to be, Harry let time slip away from him, focused only on the rhythm of her pleasure, the blazing look on her face, and the glitter of diamond and rubies just at the edge of his vision. He counted her gasps and her sighs, and kept going, a bit harder, a bit faster, until she was writhing under him, moaning her pleasure at the top of his every thrust.

Harry slid his hand out of her tight grasp, and pushed himself up. He watched himself pump into her, his penis glistening with her arousal, her thighs quivering around him. His gaze traveled up her body, to her breasts. She was, he thought, beautiful in every way.

His fingers found her clit again, and she drew in a shocked breath.

"Beautiful," he grunted.

" _Mine_ ," she said, rough and throaty.

It was the last thing either of them said until long after she came — the strength of her climax sufficient enough to bring Harry along with her, the feathery movements all along his shaft too much to bear — and the sweat had cooled off their bodies. Harry was no longer atop her, but holding her curved against his front. They held hands again, and his thumb was playing idly with the cool, unfamiliar metal of the ring he'd given her. It had been quite the celebration, and it was a long time coming back from a state of bliss.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Will we still do this?" she asked. "After we're married?"

The bliss left and he sat up on his elbow. "What do you mean?" he asked in disbelief. "Do this? Isn't this one of the main perks of being married? Doing this as much as we want?"

She giggled. "I don't mean sex. I mean... we'll be married and have our own bed... will we still be adventurous?"

Harry did not have to think. "Well, _I_ plan to be."

"Good," said Ginny. "Maybe we can make it a tradition... once a month we have an adventure."

"How about once a week?" Harry asked, squeezing her hip. "And you and your traditions," he added.

She squirmed a bit, rolling over enough that she could touch her lips to his. It was more of a promise than a kiss. Their legs tangled together, and Harry found that he was looking forward to both creating and celebrating traditions with her, the biggest of with now just ahead of them: the wedding, and all that came with it.

The next few months were a blur. Their decision to have a short engagement was met with a flurry of activity that Harry was unprepared for; at the end of an exceedingly long day, he often sat, bewildered, wondering how preparation for one single day of their lives could take so much time. When he looked back on these months, later, there were isolated moments that he remembered quite clearly — most of them involving Ginny, such as when they went to sample wedding cakes, and nearly fell over each other laughing because of something silly, or when they snuck away one Sunday, away from planning with Molly, and had quick, lusty sex under his invisibility cloak in the orchard — but most were as blurred as the time passing before their wedding.

Just one month before the date they had chosen, Harry slumped, exhausted, in the sitting room of the Burrow, eyes mostly closed, and having a lazy daydream about eloping with Ginny. He could see it clear in his mind's eye: he'd come to her window on his firebolt, tap on it, she'd leap out willingly, and they'd run off to Gretna Green—

"Do witches and wizards even go there if they want to elope?" Harry muttered. He scrubbed at his eyes. The last months had taught him there were still traditions in the magical world that he'd had no idea of; he could not assume anything was done as he'd vaguely known Muggles to do when they were getting married. But after a moment of wracking his brains, he decided that his fantasy of smuggling Ginny away and marrying her without fuss did not need to be particularly realistic in order for him to enjoy it. So, settling back, closing his eyes again, he resumed flying in the air with her in front of him on the broom, flying away...

"Ah, there you are," said Arthur.

Harry popped up. "Is Molly looking for me?" he asked, panicked.

Arthur let out a chuckle. "Not at the moment," he said. There was a warm sparkle in his eyes that had Harry relaxing once more, glad not to have to participate in any more discussions of somewhat to do with his dress robes for the occasion or if he had the proper shoes to go under it (this had been a proper discussion, and Harry had nearly bit his tongue holding in a sarcastic response).

"Thank Merlin," he said.

"Glad it's not me," said Ron, as he walked in the room. He had a platter of sandwiches and settled them in front of Harry and Arthur.

"It'll be your turn soon enough," said Arthur.

"Not bloody likely," said Ron, though his ears were turning red. "Hermione wouldn't be into all the planning, we'd have to hold the ceremony in the library for her to show..."

"Madam Pince can officiate," said Harry, as he grabbed a sandwich. It was sloppy and a glob of mustard slid off onto his palm. "Hermione will love it."

Ron laughed. To Harry's ears, it sounded a bit shaky, and he eyed his friend. There had not been a proposal between his two oldest friends yet, although he imagined it was close enough to happening. But just now, watching color creep up and turning Ron's face into a glaring beacon, Harry wondered if it would perhaps happen sooner rather than later. Harry raised his eyebrows, and Ron looked away, muttering something under his breath.

"That's not very romantic. And besides," said Arthur, "wouldn't Hermione want a Muggle wedding? So her parents wouldn't be uncomfortable?"

"I don't know what sort of wedding Hermione would want, I haven't _asked_ her—"

But a horrible thought had just struck Harry. "Oh, Merlin," he said, "what if I'd been having to plan a Muggle wedding?"

"Have a butterbeer, Harry," said Arthur, patting him on the back. He then settled back; with a twist of his wand, he made an amber bottle appear. "You're looking a bit peaky."

Harry took the conjured bottle with a murmur of appreciation. The three of them settled into an impromptu second lunch, eating Ron's sandwiches with gusto, and relishing in the silence of not having immediate wedding plans to attend to. Idly, his thoughts turned back to the idea of having to plan his wedding all on his own, without Ginny or Molly to help, and again, he conjured up an image of arriving at Ginny's window in the dead of night, whisking her off on his broom to wherever it was wizards and witches eloped to. But whenever he followed through on the thought, they never truly married alone, the Weasleys were always there, even the myriad of cousins she had that he was only just now getting to know...

 _Eloping just isn't right_ , he thought.

"Have you got everything on your end done, then?" Arthur asked, after a few minutes. "Travel plans taken care of? Family dinner?"

"I... yeah," said Harry, swallowing his bite.

"We went and picked a spot in Hogsmeade for the family dinner," said Ron. "It's big enough for all of us..."

Harry took a quick swallow of his drink.

"I'm glad you are taking your duties as best man seriously, Ron," said Arthur.

Harry avoided their eyes. It was true that Ron was being far more helpful than he would have guessed, but he remembered that moment several weeks ago, following Ron around Hogsmeade, and realizing Ron was doing for him what James would have done were he still alive to watch his son get married. It pained him, every once in a while, such as when he held Ginny as she slept, and his thoughts turned to beginning his family with her, and wishing...

"Everything's sorted, yeah," said Harry, when he noticed Arthur's expression falling into sympathy. "Yeah, Ron helped a lot."

"And presumably you've got the garter? And I assume Ron sat that bit out?" Arthur chuckled.

Ron groaned. "Don't mention the garter, Dad, I'm trying to eat—"

"Oh, do grow up—"

"The garter?" Harry asked, perplexed. This was the third time he'd heard mention of the garter. He remembered quite vividly the rather pretty flush Ginny had presented when she'd mentioned it. Now _that_ had been a pleasant interlude. Ron had been vague. Neither one had mentioned that a bit of Ginny's bridal lingerie was part of his responsibilities. "What have I got to do about a garter?"

The other two men gaped at each other and froze that way, and the moment swelled. Harry looked from one to the other, perplexed, both sandwich and butterbeer forgotten. Dimly, he was aware of a great dollop of mayonnaise dripping onto his trousers, but he ignored it.

"What? What is it?" he asked.

Arthur's ears turned red. "Well... it's a... you see, when..."

"Oh, do grow up, Dad," said Ron, who appeared to have recovered, though his face was a dark shade of red.

"But the garter's just a bit of a strappy thing, isn't it?" Harry asked. "Goes on her leg? I pull it off at some point?"

"Pull it off—no," said Arthur.

"Oh, I thought the groom pulled it off and threw it to his mates, and whoever catches it is the one to get married next," said Harry. He pointed at Ron. "I could toss it to you, you know, and make sure Hermione catches the bouquet..."

Ron flushed darker red and then went pale. "Please don't," he said.

"Is that what Muggles do?" Arthur said, in an overly bright tone. "Oh my, yes. How interesting. Fascinating, they are."

Harry looked from one to the other, but neither Arthur nor Ron cared to explain this odd little exchange. In fact, it was with an air of desperation that Ron tapped the large, stand-up radio beside the sofa — nor did he notice that the station was tuned to a wizard, who sounded vaguely like Percy, droning on about new legislature on cauldron bottom thickness being introduced at the solstice. His curiosity was piqued, but not enough to press the issue. If there was one thing one did not want to press one's future father-in-law about, it was to explain the intricacies of his daughter's future bridal lingerie.

Harry settled back, finished his sandwich, and thought again about flying through the night with Ginny. This time, however, she was wearing nothing but a garter — so, not on their way to the wedding, but to their wedding _night,_ which would be as private as he could make it, yes—

"Harry?"

He blinked away the vestiges of his daydream to find the real thing standing in front of him. Ginny was smiling at him, brown eyes bright, and her hair in some sort of complicated updo, with curled tendrils falling to frame her face. Never, in all the time he'd known her, had he seen her hair arranged in such a way, and it seemed he couldn't stop staring at the way it caught the afternoon light streaming through the windows, or the way that one particularly sassy little curl fell over her cheek.

"Harry?" she asked again, smiling a bit wider.

"Well, I think that answers your question," said Ron.

"Erm, yes," said Harry, pretending he'd heard the question. He could guess at what it was. The back of his neck got hot. "Yes, I like it very much."

"Interesting," said Ginny, "because I asked if you were in a bored to death trance from listening to the Ministry for Magic dailies." Her smile grew a bit wicked. "But I'm glad you like the hair, Fleur's been whacking at it all afternoon. She only just left to go get Bill."

"Is... uh, that the final..." Harry made a twirling motion with his fingers, not quite capturing the word he was looking for. He kept trying to grope for it. "Thing?"

Ginny shrugged. "Seems like it should be," she said.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Molly came bustling in, squawking that they were meant to have an early dinner, and they'd ruined their appetites by eating the sandwiches. Ron roared back that they were just appetizers, while Ginny pointed her wand at Harry and the mess from said appetizers whisked away. Molly had only just finished squawking when the floo erupted and spilled out George and Bill and a delicately pregnant Fleur, and there was hardly a quiet moment to think.

Still, Harry managed to grab her hand and pull her up against him, just as everyone else stampeded for the kitchen. There, he kissed her soundly.

"It does look beautiful," he said. "Very. Are we married yet?"

"Not yet," she said, brushing her hands against his chest. The blazing look, centered on him, heated him. A familiar heaviness drifted down below his waist. "I'm _done_ planning the wedding... Mum can do the rest, honestly..."

"Say the word, and we can elope," he said firmly.

She bit her lip. The look in her eye deepened, and he hardened further. "There might be one or two things _before_ the wedding I'm looking forward to..."

"Oh, yeah?"

A cleared throat had both of them pulling a bit apart. A year and a half ago, just when they were coming back together, Harry might have sprang away entirely at having been caught snogging Ginny, but now he merely pulled away enough he was not so tight against her. There was a twinkle of humor in Arthur's eyes, as though he understood.

"Everyone is sitting down," he said.

"We're coming," said Ginny, winking at him.

The meal that followed was as boisterous as ever. Molly had prepared a feast and was presiding over it with the authority of a matriarch, and Harry — who truly was not that hungry after the monster of a sandwich — dutifully ate everything set before him. His eyes kept catching on Ginny's hair, though, distracted by the curls, and the way they fell. Even when George drew him into a discussion about the latest Weasley's Wizard Wheezes invention, individualized maps of the buyer's home, Harry kept stealing glances at her.

"Got the idea from that old map," said George. "But... you know... not as intricate, of course — I couldn't manage it. I just can't work out how to give the little footsteps motion. I've got the labels right, and the rooms, but the people are just stationary."

"Hmm," said Harry. "Have you asked Hermione?"

"I'll try that when she resurfaces," George smirked. Hermione was practically living at the Ministry in preparation for the solstice meeting. "But I wondered if perhaps Sirius or Remus...?"

The old pang went through him. Harry sat back and slipped his hand onto Ginny's thigh. "They never mentioned to me the magic they used to create the map," he said, with real regret.

Across the table, Arthur's head swiveled toward him.

"Ah," said George.

"I wish they were here," said Harry. In his mind, images of Sirius and Remus flashed through, all in an instant. They would have loved helping George with his shop, Sirius especially. "Sirius especially. He would have helped."

His eyes caught Arthur's again, who had his head cocked, an unreadable expression on his face. Puzzled, Harry stared at him a second, before George snapped his attention back to him.

But that tiny interlude stayed at the back of his mind and, later, when Molly, Ginny, and a newly-arrived Hermione sat in the sitting room, he was not entirely surprised when Arthur tapped him on the shoulder, asked if he could have a moment, and led him outside into the dark and quiet yard. All was quiet, except for a snuffling sort of snore that came from the gnome holes.

"Listen, Harry," said Arthur. He lit his wand, then took his glasses off. "The conversation tonight at the table... I forget, sometimes, you see, that you grew up Muggle—"

"You've forgotten I was raised Muggle?" Harry asked, befuddled. The light from Arthur's wand clearly illuminated the slight grimace at his words. "You?"

"Well... just forget what it _means_ , sometimes," Arthur mumbled in such a way that only increased Harry's befuddlement. "There are certain things... certain things that... you may not know, may not have been told — Sirius may never have mentioned _certain things_ , I think, and—"

Somewhere, during Arthur's maze of a speech, Harry had an inkling of horror that he knew where this was heading. "Oh!" he said, shocked. Honestly, he had been given rudimentary sex education before even leaving for Hogwarts, and Sirius had mentioned _certain things_ and offered certain advice. The rest, Harry had learned by experience with the daughter of the man trying, very awkwardly, now to explain _certain things_ to him. "Oh, no, I know — I have the basics!"

Arthur eyed him. His face was as red as Ron's had been a few hours ago. "It isn't that," he said quickly.

"Oh," said Harry, for the third time. Now more perplexed than ever, he stared at Arthur.

"She'll be looking forward to it," mumbled Arthur. Then, his gaze narrowed and became more intense. "And, you know, Sirius and Remus once promised Molly they would watch over Ron and Ginny should anything happen to us... except it's happened to them. I owe it to Sirius to stand in his stead."

Harry remained silent.

Arthur squared his shoulders. "We have a tradition... a wedding tradition. It's... very old-fashioned, I don't know why we still do it... but before the ceremony, you will give Ginny a garter."

"A—"

"Yes," said Arthur. "A garter. A part of the... bridal trousseau, it's up to you, the groom, to give it to her."

"I can do that," said Harry, quickly. It did not seem too difficult, though he'd have to figure out which sort of store to get it, and then figure out how to either disguise himself or order it by owl. It was not all that complicated. He'd managed to purchase the engagement ring, hadn't he? "That doesn't seem too difficult."

"Ah," said Arthur. "That isn't all. At some point... also before the bonding ceremony... Ginny will _present_ it to you. It's... part of the tradition. Usually within the week of the wedding, most often two nights prior, she will — erm — want to show it to you for your... approval."

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. His traitorous mind, which had thus far today been quite content to have innocent little fantasies of smuggling Ginny away to marry her, conjured up image after image of Ginny wearing nothing but... _Stop it._ But they kept cropping up, even as he stared at her father.

Arthur took pity on him. "It is an old, old tradition," he said.

"I..."

The moonlight revealed a small, somewhat sad smile. "Precisely," he murmured.

There was not much more to be said. Arthur clapped him on the shoulder and left Harry to stand in the yard, looking up at the moon, thoughts racing, excitement — far more than just sexual — fizzing in his belly as though he'd just lost his head and eaten something George gave him...

Some days later, just before Christmas, and only a little over a month before the wedding, which would take place on the thirtieth of January, Harry stood in the shower, thoughts on the garter. He had not purchased it yet, but he was getting closer to it. Just yesterday, when he'd popped into Diagon Alley to buy last minute Christmas gifts, his steps had slowed as he passed a store devoted to pretty witch things, and wondered if they sold what he was looking for. _Surely they must_ , he'd thought. But his pause had given the crowd time to realize he was there, and with all the eyes then on him, he had decided not to pursue that thought. After Christmas, the crowds would be thinner, he'd have more privacy then.

But the thought kept straying into his mind at odd moments, like now in the shower. He braced his hand against the cool blue tile, letting the warm water cascade over him, and, eyes half-closed, pictured it. In his mind's eye, Ginny stood before him entirely naked but for the ring on her finger and a wispy bit of something around her pale thigh. It was enough, this thought, to have heat arrow down, stomach muscles quivering as it did, before it centered on his penis, making it swell and jerk upward, pointing toward the opposite wall.

It did not take much time at all. In fact, if Ginny had been there, Harry might have been embarrassed at how swiftly he went from growing aroused to watching the evidence mingle with the water and wash away down the drain. The sudden ache of arousal might be gone, but the excitement remained, making him slightly giddy, tipping his head back to catch the spray of water and nearly choking on it.

He gave himself another few moments to finish washing before telling himself quite firmly that he needed to pull it together.

But later, when Ginny was over for dinner, along with Ron and Hermione, Harry kept getting a little distracted by his thoughts, which was less than ideal because Ginny was bound and determined to get Grimmauld Place properly decorated for Christmas. It was not the first time he'd noted she loved traditions – the amount of boxes she'd brought over boggled his mind, then made him grin, then reminded him yet again that he needed to buy her a garter.

It only took a swift glance at the pile of tinsel for him to imagine Ginny wearing nothing but a bit of the sparkly, silvery stuff wrapped about her leg, and his penis twitched despite his interlude in the shower.

"So you two are down to the last few weeks," said Hermione. "Have you got all the details worked out?"

Harry settled his spoon in the soup he was eating, the rather nice image of Ginny popping, and groaned. "Not you too," he said.

"Sorry, mate," said Ron, though with a decided lack of sympathy.

Ginny tossed a roll at him. "We've got just about... almost everything done. Mum will let us know if we haven't."

"I was hoping we could take Christmas off worrying over it," said Harry.

" _Your_ part is just about done," said Ginny. But then she tossed him a look, a wicked one, one that reminded him of his thoughts in the shower. "I can only think of one or two things you've yet to do..."

There had been times, previously, and more frequently, that Harry sensed he knew the direction of her thoughts. His gaze dropped to her lips; she was biting them. Warmth that had nothing to do with the soup he was eating spread through him. _The garter_ , he thought. _She's thinking about the garter I've yet to give her. And when she might want to_ present _it to me._ Just as had happened in the shower, his body heated. Her foot rubbed his calf; how could he look away from her?

This time it was Ron who groaned. "Would you two stop looking at each other like that when I'm _right here_?"

"Sorry," said Harry, not meaning it.

Hermione was looking from one to the other, eyebrows raised. "What are you three talking about?" she said, uncertain. "Is this about the wedding night? Harry, it's your responsibility to make the arrangements—"

"I know," said Harry. "I know, I know. I did that months ago."

"Then what is—"

"I'll tell you later," said Ron, hastily.

But Harry's focus on his friends had dwindled. There was a subtle little glow on Ginny's cheeks, and he felt her thoughts again, knew she was feeling the same sort of heated excitement that he was. He thought of his bed upstairs and the sheets that he had just changed, knowing she would stay over tonight, but soon — very soon, just a month and a half, now, she would move in. His heart gave a funny little bump in his chest. It was all caught up together in his thoughts: the garter, the wedding, their lives stretching out before them. As Ron groaned, Ginny's blush spread and her smile widened.

After dinner, when Ron and Hermione went into the sitting room to help with the Christmas decorating that Ginny was orchestrating, Harry caught Ginny around the waist and pulled her to him, her back to his front. "I've still... got something to buy," he said. His breath stirred her hair, and he knew she could feel him against her bum. There was nothing they could do about it for the next couple of hours — Ron would riot if Harry smuggled her up to his bedroom without playing the game based on his favorite comic series — but he wanted her to anticipate what they were going to do.

Ginny turned in his arms, settled her hands on his chest, and looked up at him. There was a soft sort of look in her eyes. Harry took her hand in his, and fingered the band of her engagement ring. He never tired of feeling it there.

"You know, you're going to have a ring I'll get to play with just as much as you've been playing with mine," said Ginny. Then she slid her hand down even further and tweaked his erection through his trousers.

"I hope you don't intend to put a ring on _that_ in front of all our family and friends," said Harry.

"We want our wedding to be in all the papers, don't we?" Ginny said, smile widening.

"Well, that would guarantee it," said Harry.

Instead of finishing up the dishes, they kissed until Ron shouted at them to hurry it up; he was not going to be the only one wrapping the whole room with tinsel.

"Merlin, Ron!" Ginny shouted. "Keep your hair on!" Then, turning back to Harry, she rolled her eyes a little. "Sorry."

"I know you want to decorate the house," Harry murmured, smiling a little. He remembered when she'd decorated the Burrow's sitting room so lavishly, he felt like he'd walked into a paper store.

"I'm looking forward to it," said Ginny, when they finally broke apart. "All of it. Not just Christmas. Everything… the, you know, and… the wedding…"

"Me too," said Harry. He'd mussed her hair a little and now he fixed it, curling a tendril behind her ear. "I'm going to go get the... you know, after Christmas."

"Good," she said.

And then they kissed again until it was Hermione who bellowed their names, with a sharp reminder that she did have to work again at some point that year.

It was early January by the time Harry purchased the garter; there were catalogues filled with ideas, but none of them seemed right, and he ended up in Carn Alley for the first time, having used several charms to disguise his appearance. There was an adult carnival type atmosphere that had him goggling at all the storefronts, and he'd nearly missed the tiny store, caught as it was between two other gaudily decorated ones. It was a relief, a bit, to step off the crowded street and into the dim store.

It was not so dim that Harry couldn't see, and he allowed himself to look at everything, from the flimsy nightdresses to the stockings, over to a selection of knickers that made the back of his neck heat. It was a small space, made smaller by all the various items in it, and he was caught just inside the door, not seeing what he was looking for, precisely, but unable to look away from what he _did_ find.

Wood settled on wood with a crack that jerked his attention to the present. A witch, older and wearing silvery and purple robes, settled a potted plant beside the counter. She looked up and smiled at him. "Are you here for a garter?" she asked.

"I — yes," said Harry. It came out a bit of a stammer and he flicked his palm. "Do you have a selection?"

"Ah yes," she said. "Over here."

'Over here' was a good-sized alcove that was hidden from view at the front. Not only was there an entire wall of garters of all colors and splendor, but there was a display table layered with both books and fancier garters kept in crystal boxes. One caught his eye: it was more of a crown than a garter, dripping with jewels, and Harry had the feeling perhaps it was meant to be part of the Crown Jewels. _Ginny wouldn't like that_ , he told himself, shaking his head a little.

The book just to the side of it had a title Harry had to read twice in order to understand it. _Garters and Maids of the Bedchamber: A History of Magical Submissiveness_. Disbelief flooded him, and he cast a glance over his shoulder at the older witch, who had graciously retreated and was now humming behind the counter as she sorted mail. Magical _submissiveness_? He flipped the book open before he realized he even wanted to, only to find a rather lurid photo of a simpering witch kneeling beside a medieval bed.

He shut the book with a snap, and looked once more toward the wall, drumming his fingers on the cover.

"Can I help you find anything?" The shop witch appeared at his elbow, startling him.

"Oh," said Harry, glancing down at the book once more. "I don't know..."

The witch followed his gaze, and then grimaced. She pulled the book off, toppling over several of the boxes. "Don't let this scare you off," she said. "I keep pulling this book, but my daughter is obsessed and keeps — never mind." A little grimace creased her brow. "She's intent on..."

Harry waited, but she rolled her eyes a little and said nothing.

"And here's a more pragmatic example," she said, swiftly. A slim volume was pushed into his hands. It had a garter on the cover, and was titled: _The Witch's Garter: The Circle of Empowerment_. "It's just a little ritual, you know, before the wedding. I don't think any of the sacred twenty-eight even practice anything so ridiculous as — as the"—her voice dropped—"bed servant ritual."

"I... don't know," Harry said.

"Never you mind this," she said, and whisked it out of sight, behind a beaded curtain that chimed as she moved through it.

A pall had been cast over the shopping excursion. Harry's thoughts caught on the bed servant ritual and he stared aimless at the wall of garters. It reminded him of house elves, that did; maybe it was just the term... or the phrase "magical submissiveness". _But that's not anything to do with the garter tradition_ , he argued with himself. He moved a little closer to the wall, peering at the garters in front of him. Ginny liked traditions, true, but she wouldn't be excited about something that placed her as — as beneath him.

Relief began to filter through him, and he looked at a few more, this time noting smaller details, like a little bow on the red one, or a smattering of fairy lights winking from that fluffy green one. One of the many wonderful things about Ginny, in fact, was that she was _not_ submissive. A memory surfaced, of him being a prat so long ago at Grimmauld Place, and her calling him on it.

His eyes traveled downward, catching on a frilly blue one inlaid with a band of pearls. There was still a vague sense of disquiet lurking at the back of his thoughts. A momentary thought occurred to him — that he could leave the store and go ask Hermione what she thought — but he discarded that as soon as he had it. This was between him and Ginny; it felt off to speak to anyone else about it. He would _never_ go to Hermione for bedroom advice, why would he go ask her about this?

Ten minutes later, Harry exited the store. As he did, he tucked the small, nondescript package into his robes, satisfied with both his purchase and the fact it was over. His steps were light as his thoughts, now that he'd grappled with indecision and come out of it.

Later, when Ginny was finally over, he could not think of anything aside from the garter, and knew he had to tell her, even as he interrupted them taking down the Christmas decorations she had so lovingly put up.

"Want to go on a walk?" Harry asked. "I know it's snowing, but—"

"Sure," said Ginny, cheerful. "Let me grab my cloak, if you'll charm our shoes?"

Harry performed the charm that would keep their feet dry and toasty then waited in the dark foyer. His nerves were fizzling, though he didn't quite know why: he had done the difficult part months ago, though Ginny had made it remarkably easy for him. Still, the little box in his robes felt quite heavy.

"Ready?" she asked, coming into view. Her cloak fell over her shoulders, and she'd added a jaunty red witch's hat that clashed prettily with her hair.

"Ready," said Harry.

Not too long after the war, they'd discovered a pretty avenue just down the way. It was much too narrow for cars, and the neighborhood was old enough that trees stretched over it. The trees were bare now, lifting their branches toward a grey sky, but it was still a nice change from the normal bustle of the city. They were quiet, content to just hold hands, as they meandered down it, until they came to a small pocket of a garden.

"D'you think—"

"I have something for you," Harry blurted out. "I'm sorry — what were you about to ask?"

"I was — something about Muggles — what do you have for me?" Ginny blinked up at him from under her red hat.

Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the box. She reached for it, but he didn't let go. Her eyes met his, searching, and he sighed. "You do want this, don't you?" he asked. "It's just that — I had no idea about this garter... tradition. When I went to buy it, there was this book about garters and bed servants and witches being... well..."

Ginny was blinking up at him. "I don't think the garter is supposed to be _submissive,_ exactly." For the first time in a very long while, she sounded shy. "Maybe that's how it started out, I'm not sure. The bed servant... that's another matter, and not something I would want to do."

"Of course not—"

Her thumb brushed against his lips. Something within him relaxed. "I see it as more of... we're going to be intimate with each other the rest of our lives, Harry."

"Lucky me," said Harry, meaning it.

A smile crinkled the corner of her eyes even as color brightened her cheeks. He did not think they were red due solely to the cold. And, when she spoke next, he couldn't blame her. "I want to please you; I want you to tell me what pleases you. That's how my mum always explained it. She kept the one my dad gave her, and showed my the box once."

"Everything about you _pleases_ me," said Harry.

"It's about communication," said Ginny. "You'll talk and I'll listen."

"As long as we both know it goes both ways," said Harry, smiling.

She rolled her eyes a little, grinning. "We both _also_ know that I am not above _demanding_ that you listen to me." And it was true. Ginny was very good at making sure her needs were met, which Harry liked. It took a lot of the uncertainty away, she did, by letting him know exactly how to please her. Suddenly, he regretted suggesting a walk, regretted they were far from his bed, where he wanted to bury his head between her thighs and listen to her demands grow ever louder and breathier.

"I want to go back home and go down on you," he told her, rather more blatant than he usually was. "But first..."

Her flush was now chaotic, even in the weak winter light. This time, when she took the box, Harry let her.

It was not elaborate like some of the others; it was only a simple band of blue lace. It was not overtly sexual, but despite the cold of the afternoon, Harry's body warmed, then heated, until he was swelling in his trousers. He could see it on her, then, the little wisp of fabric no longer vague and amorphous, but real. Her thumb brushed over it.

"I love it," said Ginny, looking up at him. There was a blazing look on her face that made him want to heave her over his shoulder and carry her to bed.

"I did all right, then?" Harry asked instead.

"Yes," she said, simply.

The next weeks passed in a haze of anticipation. The plans were finalized, even Molly allowed them a break, and the wedding was nearly upon them. At the back of Harry's mind was the knowledge that Ginny would be showing him the garter, but with work and the wedding and Ron dragging him off to meet Neville and Dean and Seamus and several other Weasley brothers in the middle of a dark moor, where they drank too much, the thought was held in the back of his mind. It was up to Ginny to decide the next step; he had done his part.

That was not to say that it did not creep into his thoughts at odd times, but when Harry arrived home from work for the last time before the wedding, he was not thinking of the garter, but rather what he wanted to try to make for dinner. He stood, sort of aimless and blinking, in the kitchen, caught between trying to decide whether he wanted to heat up leftovers from two nights ago, or if he wanted to make something new. It was odd, though, how quiet it was.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, in response to the quiet; usually there was music coming out of one of the rooms, or Kreacher was stirring about, or Ron was coming in to ask him if he was _sure_ he didn't want to go to the Cannons game. Harry ignored this small sense of foreboding and got out a pan from the cupboard and bacon from the icebox. But something continued to niggle at him as he fried his bacon and toasted his bread with lazy flicks of his wand. Was everyone over at the Burrow? Had he forgotten something?

A fragrance that had nothing to do with bacon and toast wafted toward him just as he was about to take his first bite. It was something flowery that reminded him of the honeysuckle that grew outside Ginny's window at the Burrow, the way they smelled at night just after a rain. It struck him, then, what was happening, and he set his sandwich down and turned to her.

She stood all the way across the kitchen, wearing a long, silken blue robe that floated around her body. It might have been meant to conceal more than it revealed, but the material was thin enough, he could see small shadows that intrigued him: little bumps at the tips of her breasts, a darker shadow lower… She'd done something to the ends of her hair; usually pin-straight, there were little ringlets at the ends. One of them fell over her breast, bobbing lightly when she breathed. After a moment of contemplation of this, Harry looked up. There was a solemn silence. Ginny didn't smile; neither did he. The room seemed to grow airless; Harry could hear his heart beating in his ears.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said.

His gaze dropped downward again; he couldn't seem to help it. There was a pretty flush spreading across her chest, intriguing him, making it difficult to look away. He took a few steps, braced his hands against the table, and looked at her. His trousers were tightening beneath his robes, trapping his swelling erection against his thigh. _Merlin, Ginny_. And then – there was a moment, a truly ridiculous moment, considering he had seen every inch of her body… had tasted and _licked_ every inch of her body – when it grew _too_ airless and _too_ hot, when he was suddenly certain he wasn't giving her enough privacy—

"I have something to show you," she said. "Want to see it?"

His heart gave a great thump. "Yeah," he said. "I do."

The translucent little robe slumped to the floor in the space of a breath. Harry held his breath for a lot longer, feeling like he was seeing her naked for the first time. The memory of that was so sharp in his mind; he'd seen her, fully, in Ron's attic room at the Burrow, and had nearly swallowed his tongue, just as he did now. It was new, this, seeing her dusky rose nipples, the delicate dip inward of her waist, her bellybutton, and the dark red curls between her thighs. There was a roaring in his ears, now, and his trousers were tight enough to the point of pain.

The blue garter he'd given her was wrapped around her thigh just a handspan above her knee. Only gas lamps lit the kitchen, and a long shadow dripped down her thigh from the garter. It was mesmerizing, watching it move, and it took quite a while before Harry could catch his breath and find words to say to her.

"Merlin, Ginny," he said; his voice came out a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Merlin, Ginny, you are just…"

She folded her arms across her chest, plumping her breasts up in a way that did not help Harry try to gain a clear head, then leaned against the wall. Her pose was all confidence; his stomach swooped again, remembering that first time. Presenting the garter to him, he realized, was not a submissive act for Ginny. On the heels of that thought came the stark fear that he was about to mess his trousers before he even touched her.

"You're awfully far away," she pointed out. Her arms fell away from her chest, and one slim finger traced a line from the top of her garter, to the curls between her thighs. "I was certain you'd want to inspect it more closely, just to see if I've put it on right."

"Not in the kitchen," Harry rasped out. "Go to my room, Ginny. I want to inspect it there."

The look she cast him, up and down, lingering at his groin, as though she could see his erection through his robes. She'd know it was there, of course; the saucy wink she tossed him told him so. Then she pirouetted out of the room, long hair with those intriguing little ringlets flying out behind her as she did. Harry took a moment to gather himself, pressing his heel down hard exactly where he ached for her, eyes closed. His thoughts were scattered and disjointed, and it took thinking of the Chudley Cannons to gain a bit of control.

When he finally made it up to his bedroom, he was no longer in danger of swallowing his tongue. Ginny stood at the window; the drapes were open and she stared out over the tops of the row of houses in front of them. Her hair spilled down her back, swaying slightly above her pale bottom. His gaze lingered there as he tried to come up with something clever to say. But the words would not come; instead, he undid the ties on his robes and vanished them as they dropped to the floor. His shirt came next.

His trousers were left on, though he undid them, and pulled his erection up from where it had been trapped against his thigh.

Ginny remained silent, staring off into the deepening twilight. Harry stepped up behind her, bracing his hand against the window above her, close enough to her back that he could feel the heat of her body. His fingertips found her garter; he toyed with it, and the skin underneath, and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. His lips slid from shoulder to the curve of her neck. Her back arched and she stretched upward in a silent invitation.

He trailed a path from her garter to her breasts, then circled around her hard little nipple. His arousal was much less urgent, thank Merlin, and he could toy with her the way he knew she liked, rubbing that little peak, rubbing around it, pressing it inward in a way that made her wriggle.

Ginny purred, making him smile against her smooth skin.

He took his hand off her for just a moment, to push his trousers and pants down off his hips. His erection sprang free, and he groaned as he pushed it against her back.

"I take it you like the garter?" she asked, speaking for the first time since he came into the room.

"Even more than I thought I would," Harry confessed. "I had to think about the Cannons, otherwise I was going to come in my pants."

Her laugh was a little breathless. "You haven't done _that_ in a while,"

"Witch," he said, giving her bottom a little pinch. "I thought we weren't going to mention that again?"

Ginny turned in his arms. Now it was her belly that his penis pressed against, warmer and softer than her back. "I won't," she said, though he knew she would tease him with it again. Her fingers wrapped around his erection, pumping it up and down. Chills went up and down his spine, and the tip of it leaked a little.

"Stop," he said, breathless. "I don't want to come on your hand, either. Isn't there more of the ritual?"

Ginny blinked at him. "More of the—?"

Laughter stirred in his chest. "Isn't there a bed servant component?"

"The—"

She was spluttering when he lifted her in his arms and whirled her around, then settled her on the bed. It was meant to be a bit of a joke, but his gaze caught on the garter, then lifted up toward the triangle of hair between her open thighs. They were open enough he saw her delicate pink folds; they were plump, and there was moisture gathered there. As he knelt beside the bed, most of his laughter was gone.

"It doesn't seem fair," said Harry, "that you be the one to do all the _pleasing_ , right before the wedding." He pulled her hips toward him, breathing in a deep as he did so. He looked up at her, lips against the delicate bone that connect the center of her body to the top of her thigh. It quivered.

She laughed; it was a sound of pure delight.

It had been in the back of Harry's thoughts since the bookstore that the love-making they did after she presented herself to him would be about pleasing her. It was only right. If he was being presented with a promise that their marriage would be a place where he could be open about his desires and know that Ginny would listen, he was damn sure going to do the same for her. "I'll go down on you every night," he said. Her legs opened a little wider as he did so, and her hips bumped upward.

"Harry," she said, sitting upward on her elbow. "I would not be marrying you if I thought I would be doing all the work." There were beautiful, hectic colors spread across her cheeks.

Harry gave her a lick, eyes half-closing. He squeezed her thigh, right over her garter. For long minutes, he used his lips and tongue to coax more wetness from her, to coax the moans he loved to hear, to stir her arousal as much as she stirred his. When she began to move with his mouth, he pinned her down with his forearms, spread her wide open with his thumbs, and set about giving the small nub of her clit all the attention he knew she liked. The _newness_ of seeing her naked in the kitchen had faded, to be replaced with everything he'd learned about her in the last years. Her fingers twined in his hair, pulling him hard against her body, which would be surging against his mouth if he had not pinned her down to the bed.

Her clit gave a little jerk against his tongue and she cried out.

"Did that meet with your approval?" he asked, standing.

Her forearm was flung over her eyes, and she nodded, still panting for breath.

"Now this," said Harry, devouring her with his eyes, "is an excellent presentation." Her whole body was open to him, trembling with the aftermath of her climax; trembling enough that the garter trembled with her. He stroked himself, rubbing the head of his penis, spreading around the moisture. _Merlin_. Her legs were still spread, her nipples still tight, and now her fingers were traveling downward.

He took her just like that, sliding inside her with a grunt, still standing beside the bed, watching his penis disappear into her folds. She was so tight that sweat beaded on his brow and his body wanted to move fast and hard until he was finished.

But even more powerful than the urge to thrust until he came was his determination to bring her to another peak. He paused when he was buried all the way, forcing his breath to even out. The muscles in his back twitched as he reined in his wild thoughts. After a moment, he began to rock his hips, slow and deliberate.

"You like that?"

"Yeah," she said.

Harry gazed at her, moving slowly, focusing how beautiful she looked against the dark blue bedding. The ringlets were slightly mussed, but they spread out around her in a red corona. His eyes met hers, then, and stayed there for long minutes as he slid in and out of her in easy, gentle movements. Her eyelids flickered at the top of his thrust.

Harry brushed his hand up her belly. "We don't usually do it like this," he observed. "I like it, I can see so much."

A little whimper escaped her. His fingertips had found her nipple and circled it. A flush spread across her chest. "It feels good," she said, "but not..."

"Touch yourself," he said. The words came out an order, and the small of his back tightened. For a moment, he froze, not wanting to come before she was there too.

The smile she gave him was wide and deliberate. Harry could have done this for her; he often found her clit with his finger while they were having sex. It made her wild. But right now he wanted to watch her do it, and she did not disappoint. Her fingers went straight to it, rubbing around it in a brisk rhythm. Harry matched that rhythm, and was rewarded with a particularly loud moan from her.

He licked his lips. Her taste still lingered on them. It was almost too much, the erotic sight of Ginny touching herself combined with the taste of her, and the feel of her heat around his erection.

"Harry," she panted after another couple of minutes. "Harry, I need..."

"What do you need?" he asked.

She blinked at him, eyes wild. "I need — I think I need — I need to be on top."

It took a minute, but Harry found himself on his back, Ginny atop him, riding him with a single-minded fierceness. Her hair fell all over him, and he slid his hand into it, cupping her head. Hard and fast, she rode him, until his thoughts scattered, and all he could think was how good it felt with her, Ginny, jerking her hips against his in a rhythm that was no longer gentle.

Her body tightened on his, squeezing him, and it was this first evidence of her climax that set his own off. "Oh _fuck_ ," he swore. His hips jerked, and she cried out.

His hand found her thigh, just over her garter, and clamped down tight, even as he twisted upward, flooding her with his desire, continuing to thrust through the new slickness.

" _Fuck_ , Harry," she swore back at him. Then, with no warning, she slumped down atop him, splayed out across his chest, quivering.

Harry could not blame her. His thoughts had scattered far, and it was all he could do to pull them back in, especially with little aftershocks of pleasure still surging through his blood. Long minutes passed as his breathing evened out and warm lassitude spread through him. The aftermath of sex with Ginny felt like a most powerful, most potent charm…

Quite some time later, Ginny spoke. "Were you surprised?" Ginny asked, sounding eager and tired all at once.

Harry twined their fingers together. "Very," he said. "I almost swallowed my tongue."

Her hand slid along his belly to cover his heart. "Good." There was a satisfied purr in her voice.

It was later — much later. Their bodies were calm, their sweat dried, and the small charms taken care of. The blankets were piled on top of them, as a bit of January chill had crept in while they were busy. With a lazy flick of his wand, Harry lit a fire in the hearth across from the bed. Beside him, Ginny stretched and yawned.

Harry rolled over onto his side and found her leg and the garter she wore upon it. "I knew it would happen, I just didn't know when."

"That's how I felt when you proposed," said Ginny, then yawned again.

"That confident, were you?"

At any other moment, he knew she would have given him a cheeky sort of answer. But the firelight played over her expression, turning it almost grave. "I knew," she said, solemn. "I didn't know _when_ it would happen, but I knew when we broke up at Dumbledore's funeral that _when_ you came home, I'd marry you."

Harry cupped her bum in his hand, squeezing lightly, and kissed her on the tip of her nose. His thumb slid down again, to toy with the garter. Behind his eyelids, a pleasant, half-formed dream began, of the years stretching before them, and how after tonight — and after the wedding — there would be no more waiting or goodbyes. Just Ginny.

"Have I mentioned lately that I love you?" Harry asked.

But there was no reply. Ginny had fallen asleep after her small speech, her lips still parted in a smile. And in a minute — maybe even less — Harry did the same, thinking ahead to the future, to the wedding and after, glad he was spending it with her – and even more glad she was as happy as he was.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an early birthday gift for someone special, you know who you are. Happy birthday! I hope you enjoyed this as I have enjoyed writing it. (I have really been on a bedservant trope kick lately, if you can't tell, and I may have to write a story about a couple who would have more of a power dynamic). I have missed fanfic, and I'm getting back to work on Shadows and Haunts next Monday.


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